


These Black Hands

by engels



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Choking, It's porn, M/M, Masturbation, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 06:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9870836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/engels/pseuds/engels
Summary: Josh's hands look different from Tyler's, but when they're covered in paint, they all look the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> sorry

It wasn’t until the third try that the light flicked to green and the door finally unlocked. Josh held the key card between two fingers as he clumsily hip-checked the door open, hoisting his overnight backpack higher up his shoulder. His fingers sought the light switch while his foot held the door, and the clean, plastic-y smell of pressed linen that seemed to be universal for every hotel room he’d ever stayed in greeted him. 

Josh dropped his backpack heavily at the foot of the bed and kicked it aside, delicacy a mere afterthought as he threw himself onto the mattress. Cool sheets on heated skin and tired muscles felt like a blessing. Toeing off his shoes, Josh scooted himself up higher on the bed until his head hit the stacked pillows and he relaxed with a deep sigh that cleaned the stale air and stress from his lungs in one exhale.

When Josh blinked his eyes back open, the room felt darker despite the curtains still being drawn as they were when he entered. The lights he left on felt harsh and too bright. Sleep left an unpleasant taste in his mouth that Josh tried to swallow down as he pulled his phone from his pocket, squinting at the glowing screen. _2:13 am._

Middle of the night. That meant the rest of the guys had settled into their own rooms as well. Josh last saw Tyler when he left him talking to the concierge in the lobby about local takeout menus, too exhausted himself to do much more than take his key card and trudge up to his room. It was unusual for Tyler to retire to his room for the night without swinging by Josh’s first, if not to eat together and review their day then to at least wish him goodnight. 

Josh wondered if Tyler _had_ stopped by while he took his unexpected nap, knocked, and left when no answer came. The image of Tyler’s crestfallen face as he went back to his own room alone made Josh’s chest ache a little.

And now, for whatever cruel trick of the universe he was stuck in, Josh felt wide awake in the middle of the night while everyone else slept. He sighed and reached over into the nightstand, pulling out the tv remote.

Josh flicked through nameless programs and commercials before conceding to an infomercial about nonstick cookware. His mind wandered as he watched the women on the screen demonstrate the hardiness of ceramic coating, all fake teeth and fake smiles, fake enthusiasm and fake nails. 

Sliding an elbow under his head to prop himself up, Josh rested his other hand on his belly as he tried to let the droning from the television lull him back to sleep. _”….and if you call now, you’ll get the exclusive tv offer of DOUBLE, that’s right, double the….”_ Josh’s eyes fell to half-lidded.

Whether by choice or out of boredom or just out of sheer relaxation, Josh found his fingers traveling down from his belly until they were playing with the button of his jeans. Without giving it a second thought, Josh slipped his hand into his pants and brief in one smooth motion.

His eyes stayed trained on the tv, but his mind went in and out. The hand down his pants barely moved, he wasn’t even hard, but the feeling of warmth and soft skin on skin through the hum of the tv and the lights felt like more of a familiar comfort than a sexual act. 

But it was still a sexual act; Josh found that his body responded to his touch more and more with each passing minute, until he fell into a steady rhythm on himself. Slow, so slow, and gentle, but purposeful as Josh encircled his own now fully hard cock, other hand reaching down to tug down the zipper of his jeans and push the fabric back as far as it would go.

Josh thought of nothing in particular, still reveling in an almost meditative state of relaxation as he simply worked himself over. Whatever reaction his body decided to give, Josh let it happen. When his jaw felt heavy, Josh let his lips part a little and his mouth fall open just enough to let out a soft sigh. 

Even though reaching orgasm seemed almost secondary to the entire process of getting there this time, Josh knew it would take him forever to come this way. He was almost willing to just let it be so, content to just lay back and tease himself for hours until his climax was pulled from him slow and thick, but as the night ticked by, Josh realized that even though he wanted it, he didn’t have all the time in the world. 

Sitting up, Josh pulled his shirt over his head and discarded it as he reached for his backpack. He dug through an inside pocket for his hand lotion (Tyler always said it was weird that his hands were so soft even though he flayed the skin from them drumming every night—Josh didn’t have the heart to tell him it was less because of skincare and more because of frequent masturbation), but his fingers closed around a different bottle instead. 

Curious, Josh withdrew a small black tube and recognized it immediately as Tyler’s black paint for shows. It wasn’t uncommon for some of their things to get thrown together and mixed up in a rush, but Tyler would probably really miss this particular thing. Josh briefly considered returning it right then, even if he had to wake his friend. 

That was ridiculous. It was almost 3 in the morning, Tyler wouldn’t be needing his paint right now, and the dull throb between Josh’s legs reminded him of a more pressing matter. He felt around in his backpack for another minute before accepting that his lotion wasn’t there; worst case scenario, Tyler found Josh’s jack-off lotion in his own bag and was using it to moisturize his hands.

Best case scenario, Tyler found Josh’s jack-off lotion in his own bag and was using it to jack off. The thought burned through Josh’s brain like wildfire, sending his mind reeling and his gut clenching as he suddenly pictured Tyler’s face, twisted and beautiful in pleasure, as his hand squeezed around his base while his hips twitched up to meet it.

Josh’s hand was back on his dick so quickly it left him light-headed. Josh figured the less time he put into thinking and the more time he put into chasing his physical pleasure, the less guilty he’d have to feel about the fire the fantasies of Tyler ignited in his belly. 

He landed back on the pillows with a grunt, thumbing over the head of his cock while his other hand clenched around the item he still held. The black paint. Josh turned it over in his fingers as he stroked himself faster, hair beginning to stick to his forehead as his brow furrowed with exertion.

In his fantasy, the tan hand with which Tyler pleasured himself suddenly turned black, the same splotchy black that held the microphone during shows. Josh gasped as he lifted his head to watch the head of his leaking cock slide between the circle of his own fingers. He pictured those black hands instead of his own, long fingers curled tightly around him, another black hand holding him down by the hip. 

Josh bit back a moan and his lip as he took his hand from his dick and laid it on the top of his thigh instead, length twitching and pulse racing as he struggled to regain control. He wasn’t ready for this to end yet; not when he still had the black tube of paint in his hand and an absolutely wicked idea in his brain.

Flipping open the cap, Josh squeezed a dollop of paint into his palm, rubbing his hands together to spread it around. He blended to his wrists and admired the look of it. Josh had sturdier hands, broader palms than Tyler, but the paint was convincing enough and he was horny enough for it not to matter.

Wrapping a hand around himself again, Josh felt close to dying. His eyes were glued to how the black hand looked working over his cock, twisting on the upstroke, collecting the precum that dribbled generously from his head now and ran down his length. 

“Oh, _shit_ , ah-“ It was way too easy to picture it as Tyler’s. Within minutes, Josh was panting and moaning mindlessly, sweat beading at his temple, hips fucking into his own fist. 

The smears of black paint along his cock was unlike anything Josh had ever seen. He teetered on the edge of orgasm, where he’d been for the last twenty minutes, and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. His other hand splayed across his chest, leaving streaks of black paint from sternum to v-line, and smudges where Josh toyed with his nipples. He pinched one again and rolled it between his fingertips, and the whimper that dropped uncontrollably from his lips was almost unrecognizable. 

Crazed with pleasure and moments from coming whether he was ready or not, Josh let his other black hand trail up over his pecs until it closed around his throat. He squeezed lightly and then tighter as his mind grew hazy and his breathing became labored, then difficult, then impossible. He felt his pulse throb under his palm as he choked himself, eyes slipping shut and head falling back as his other hand moved wetly over his cock and squeezed. 

The black paint was rubbing off on his throat. It was leaving a handprint; one black handprint that would barely cover the bruises from how tightly Josh pressed. One black handprint, exactly like Tyler’s, left around his neck from choking him and holding him down while bringing him over the edge.

One single breathy, wrecked moan tore from Josh’s throat right before he came, dissolving into weak panting as he spilled all over his clenched abs. He released his grip around his throat and tugged his hair instead, black residue dirtying yellow locks as he came down. 

Whether the infomercial on tv was still running or not, Josh would never find out; he was asleep like a log. 

The next morning, Josh awoke to the sound of his own stomach grumbling. He rubbed his eyes before noticing the flakes of dried paint peeling off his fingers and under his nails, and the memory of the night before and probably the best orgasm of his life hit him like a punch to the gut. Guilt, sandwiched with arousal, topped with more guilt, and dread at having to look Tyler in the eye over scrambled eggs at breakfast.

“Morning, dude,” Tyler greeted when Josh found him in the hotel restaurant after changing his clothes and cleaning up. “Did you go to bed early? I knocked, but—oh, by the way-“ Tyler dug in his pocket before pulling out a familiar shape. “This is yours, right? Found it in my bag.” 

Tyler handed Josh the lotion bottle and Josh wanted to curl up and die. “Ye-uh-yeah, thanks, man.” 

Tyler rubbed his fingers together. “Might have used some too, it’s really good.” Then he added, “Super soft. My hands feel kind of like yours now.”

Josh blinked for a moment before coming back to his body, and remembering. “It’s fine. Here’s this, too, I found it this morning.” Josh lied as he passed Tyler his tube of paint. “It’s not as soft.” He joked.

Tyler looked up from unwrapping a poppyseed muffin. “Thought I lost that.” He took the tube and tucked it back into his pocket. “Thanks. You should really get some food. No offense man, you look kind of tired. Try the muffins, they’re really—what’s that on your neck?”

**Author's Note:**

> this exists because interviewers keep asking josh about jerking off


End file.
